


What Do You Get the D.I. Who Has Nothing?

by second_skin



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Birthday Party, Fix-It, Friendship, Gen, Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-29
Updated: 2012-06-29
Packaged: 2017-11-08 20:17:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/447109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/second_skin/pseuds/second_skin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Mrs. Hudson and Molly arrange a small tea party for Greg's birthday. Post-Fall fix-it.<br/></i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Do You Get the D.I. Who Has Nothing?

**Author's Note:**

> A very quick, sentimental fic to celebrate Rupert Graves's 49th birthday. Inspired by Louise Brealey saying on The Baker Street Babes podcast that if there's any of the Sherlock bunch she'd like to have tea with, it would be Rupert and Una. . . .and I think Una was an afterthought as chaperone!

Molly felt nervous and sweaty in her bright green sundress and dangling daisy earrings. She’d wanted to put on something special for the occasion, but cupcakes and tea at Speedy’s? Well, perhaps that didn’t really require heels and pearls and a ribbon in her hair. As usual, she’d put in a bit too much effort. She probably seemed silly, not chic.

She winced a little when she looked at Greg across the table and remembered the Christmas party--how she'd got all dolled up and then Sherlock . . . _ugh_. Best not to think of Sherlock now.

Greg had already finished his tea and was leaning back in his chair nodding indulgently at the third story Mrs. Hudson was reeling off about Mrs. Turner’s kitchen renovations. When he glanced at Molly, she smiled broadly, trying to will him to smile back. He made an attempt, but didn’t manage much more than a tilt of his head.

She missed his smile. Missed John’s little grins and quips. Missed Mrs. Hudson’s laughter.

* * *

Molly hadn’t been able to summon the courage to ring up Greg or Mrs Hudson since the funeral. She was still terrified, more than a month later, that she couldn’t keep the secret. But she didn’t have the heart to refuse when Mrs. H asked if she’d join her and Greg at Speedy’s for an impromptu little tea party.

“My dear, it’s Greg’s birthday, you see, and his children are on holiday with his ex. And he’s still feeling a bit too rough to see his old mates at the Yard—the few who’ve stayed in contact. I think it’d do him good to get out with old friends, love. Please come.”

“And John?”

Mrs Hudson paused, her voice softer, but steady. “No. He’s packing up the flat this week. He’s going to visit his parents, and then says he’s going to sign on with Médecins Sans Frontières for awhile.”

“Oh no, Mrs. Hudson—he can’t leave. He just can’t . . .” 

“I felt the same at first. I thought I’d try to make him stay, Molly, but now I see how lost he is, how his anger is eating at his heart, just devouring it—and I think this may be for the best.”

The day of the tea party, Molly found she couldn’t eat any breakfast. Thinking about what Sherlock’s "death" had done to them all, how it had broken their little family apart. They had seemed like a family for awhile, hadn’t they? It all seemed so long ago now.

Well, for a couple of hours, she was going to pretend everything was all right again. Greg deserved a bit of cheer, after all he’d been through. Losing his career and his wife and children in the span of a few months. The knot in her stomach tightened. Losing his two best friends. She’d thought Sherlock sometimes seemed like Greg’s naughty, wayward son, and John like a brother.  
How awful to have lost so much. And all because of lies. Lies Jim had told.

And perhaps because of lies she had told too.

How was she ever going to swallow sandwiches and tea when she was spending all her energy swallowing the truth?

As she rode the tube towards Baker Street, Molly had tried to remind herself that her lies were accomplishing something important. She was helping Sherlock. And if she didn't keep her mouth shut, Sherlock's brother would surely find out and then what? Mycroft had been so clear in his instructions. Mustn’t give away the secret. He’d repeated it more than once when she was helping him gather passports, disguises, train tickets for Sherlock.

Mycroft was so fussy, so adamant that his brother be protected, and only agreed to providing the money and means for Sherlock’s plan if the details remained only among the three of them. Of course, she'd agreed. She could see the terror in Mycroft’s eyes when he and Sherlock talked about some friend of Jim’s they’d been tracking.

Funny, but she hadn't really seen any terror in Sherlock’s eyes. She'd seen tears at first, but as they began preparing his baggage and paperwork, he’d looked almost as though he were about to go on holiday.

And he’d taken her by the hand before they parted and told her again. “What you know is of enormous value, Molly. What you understand. What you’ve seen and will see. Treat it all with care.” He’d said it with a wink and a smile, and she’d thought for a moment how lovely it was to be sharing something with Sherlock that no one else shared. She'd felt special. Needed. Happy even. Until she'd remembered the gruesome circumstances. And then she'd felt ashamed, and nodded solemnly.

 _Molly Hooper_ , she'd told herself as she'd marched up the stairs from the tube— _you’re just a dreadful person to think about your own worries right now. You must be extra charming and fun at Greg’s little party. You must try to make them forget their troubles_.

* * *

So now she was joking and talking about the weather, and they’d made it through the cupcakes and sandwiches until none of them had much else to say. Greg had looked at her a dozen times, knitting his brow as if he wanted to say something, but then looking away.

They walked Mrs. Hudson up to her door and kissed her goodbye, all promising to stay in touch. All knowing they wouldn’t. It was too hard. Just too hard to look at each other. And to think about John upstairs sorting through Sherlock’s books and papers alone.

Greg asked if he could walk Molly to the Underground and she said yes, of course. As soon as they were a few steps away from 221, the questions started coming. His voice was low and demanding.

“What's happening, Molly? You must tell me what you know, right now."

"I don't know a thing . . . I don't even know what you're talking about."

"Rubbish. I’ve been looking at you all afternon, seeing you covering your mouth with your hand, like you’ve got a secret you're trying to hold in. Watching you glance out the window every few minutes. And the expression on your face whenever Mrs. Hudson mentioned her sister’s trip to Switzerland was so odd. This is to do with Sherlock, isn’t it?”

She tried. She really did. She tried to look away, to walk faster, to just keep her lips pressed tight together so she wouldn’t . . .

“Molly, I may not have my job or my team or my bloody warrant card anymore, but I’m still a detective. I still know how to read people. And if you want me to put you in a cold, dark room and start interrogating you, I will. But I don’t think I’m going to have to do that, do you, Molls?”

And it all came spilling out, through tears, and stuttered apologies. Greg took her back to Speedy’s, and they borrowed an old notebook from the man behind the counter and began making list upon list of all the things she knew, all the clues, all the information she could remember from bits and pieces she’d heard Sherlock and Mycroft discussing. All she knew firsthand from helping Sherlock fake the DNA and prepare the body that was to double as his own.

When she’d exhausted her memories, they sat in silence for a few minutes. And she finally saw Greg smile again. A big toothy smile that set his face aglow. He grabbed her hand and squeezed it tight. She was still shaky and feeling sick and ashamed, knowing she’d betrayed Sherlock, but so glad to have unburdened herself at last.

“Molly, it’s okay. You've done nothing wrong. He put all this information, all this knowledge in your head, you know. And he knew bloody well you were too decent a person to keep it all to yourself. Right? Didn’t he know you’d be able to see the misery he was putting his friends through—and didn’t he know you’d be the one who could fix that?” He was pulling her up and leading her out of Speedy’s and back to Mrs Hudson’s again. And he was almost laughing. She thought that perhaps he might be right.

“He said treat the secret with care, didn’t he? Well, you’ve done that. You’ve kept it from the press and Yard--saved it for me, for John, for Mrs. Hudson. And now we’re going to go talk to them and come up with a plan. Are you up for that, Molly? Up for facing John? ‘Cause I think you and Mrs Hudson will have to go in first--the shock troops. John'd still like to take a swing at me, I think, and I’m afraid I might lose that fight. He short, but he’s quick,” Greg chuckled.

“Yes, yes, I can do that. Oh Greg, I can’t believe I was so blind to it. I’m so happy you puzzled it all out. Just so happy,” She felt tears start to well up in her eyes and a trickle of something dripping from her nose.

“Oh bloody hell, Molls. Don’t start crying again. We’ve got no time for that. Now let’s break the news to Mrs. Hudson first and then we’ll come up with a strategy for John, so he doesn’t leap out a window himself in shock.”

Molly swallowed and smoothed her hair. Retied the ribbon. Ready for the next phase of this battle, whatever it was. But just as Greg was about to knock on the front door, she stopped him, with a sniffly little grin.

She wrapped her arms around the Inspector (because darn it, he was still the Yard’s finest, in her eyes, and she'd always think of him as D.I. Lestrade), squeezed tight, and felt a sense of calm for the first time in weeks.

She knew somehow that the family was going to be back together eventually. She let a few stray tears fall on his well-worn blue jacket, and said in a whisper, “Happy Birthday, Greg. From me and Sherlock. Happy Birthday and many happy returns.”


End file.
